


Reinforcement

by Anonymized



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-War, Anal Sex, Bondage, Bottom Harry Potter, Breathplay, Confinement, Corporal Punishment, Cruciatus Curse (Harry Potter), Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Drowning, Harry is just barely under 18 at the Battle of Hogwarts, M/M, Oral Sex, Psychological Torture, Rape, Sadism, Sexual Slavery, Spell Damage (Harry Potter), Top Lucius Malfoy, Torture, brief off-screen Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy, but is still technically underage when first captured
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:33:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26987536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymized/pseuds/Anonymized
Summary: Potter may have expected cruelty, but he had not been even remotely prepared for Lucius’ particular brand of it.
Relationships: Lucius Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 5
Kudos: 123





	Reinforcement

**Author's Note:**

> A dark, nasty little something that wanted to exist. Did it need to? No, not really. Yet here it is, causing me to create an entirely separate account to post it well away from and unaffiliated with my usual content.
> 
> This fic features sexualized violence and rape presented from the point-of-view of the rapist. Please protect yourself by checking the tags and exiting the fic if you believe the warned content would be triggering or undesirable to you. Some of the tags may refer to only a brief moment of the fic, but I would still rather over-warn than under-warn.

It had taken the better part of six months of firm discipline and consistent training to break Harry Potter.

 _Crucio_ had taken them a long way at the start, when the boy had stubbornly refused to obey even the simplest command.

Lucius was rather skilled in the use of the curse, and far too intimately familiar with the sensation of it himself. He knew exactly how long to hold it to achieve the desired results.

A mere moment or two was the equivalent of a full-body dip in liquid fire, every nerve-ending brutally awakened and seared at once like hundreds of _Incendio_ sparks beneath the skin. The shock is such that the lungs can’t even work to force a sound forward, breath caught firm until the fire drips harmlessly away at the spell’s end.

Just a few seconds more brought forth the screams, building from choking silence into a shrill, frantic thing, inarticulate and raw.

Potter had been hoarse from them in those first few days, when he was permitted to speak at all. Though perhaps other uses of his throat had played a part in that.

A minute was immolation, blood boiling through the veins, flesh rending from bone, organs twisting and bubbling, brain melted down to molten ooze leaking from the ears. Every bit of him would feel like it should be charred and fallen away to ash, but when he looked—later, when he could think or even _breathe_ again—he would see no sign of the unspeakable pain he’d endured.

He'd made a genuine attempt at escape once. Just the once. It was the only time Lucius had held the curse a full minute. And then another. And another after that.

By the time he’d sated his fury, the anguished wails had long-since stopped—Potter had screamed himself silent, throat torn and bloodied. Even once he’d regained the ability to speak, he hadn’t been able to do so above a whisper for nearly a week following.

Which suited Lucius just fine as all his desperate pleading and apologies had sounded far more pleasant in the sweet, breathy remembrance of his agony.

The incident left Potter with a persistent tremor in his hands and recurring nosebleeds, however, and Lucius decided to save that particular method for special circumstances, lest he disable him beyond usefulness.

Besides that, Unforgivables were terribly blunt instruments; undeniably effective, but rather inelegant. The suffering of the torture curse was unattractive at best—bulging, bloodshot eyes, veins throbbing thick and blue at the skin’s surface, seized muscles contorting the body to unnatural shapes in an effort to escape a pain without external cause, faces covered in snot and tears and drool. Potter bore it no more beautifully than any other.

There were a wealth of more appealing ways to break a spirit.

Corporal punishment wasn’t terribly effective with the boy. He took it with minimal fuss after the first few times, each strike accepted soundlessly unless he’d been ordered to count. He looked rather tantalizing hung by his wrists and biting his own lip bloody to stay quiet, but his insistent stoicism rather took some of the fun out of it.

Lucius still indulged, of course. It was a wonderful physical release, if nothing else, and Potter’s refusal to so much as whimper made it quite gratifying anytime he _did_ manage to startle the slightest sound from him.

He’d taken to having Potter count more often than not, if just to force him to break his self-imposed vow of silence.

“Thirty-seven, thank you, sir,” ground out between tightly clenched teeth was nearly as pleasing as his begging would be.

He increased the tally each time to try and find the upper limit of his endurance, but as time wore on and the count climbed to triple digits, he had begun to suspect that Potter would just let himself be beaten to unconsciousness, mottled with purpling bruises or lashed to the bone. Which, he supposed, would be a satisfying enough endeavour on its own.

While Potter’s tolerance for pain was admirable, Lucius was imaginative and resourceful enough to seek out other weaknesses, the exploitation of which yielded much better results.

Confinement worked a treat provided the space was small enough. So he’d added a door to Potter’s room small enough to reflect the size of the closet it led to. ‘Closet’ would even be a rather generous term—it was a cupboard, if that.

The ceiling was just an inch or two above Potter’s head when he knelt with his legs spread across the slight distance to either edge of the tiny space and the heels of his feet pressed firmly into his buttocks, walls close enough that, even if he could move his arms from where they were bound with the hand of each holding the elbow opposite, he wouldn’t be able to stretch them out. The cupboard amounted to nothing but bare walls and a floor with a hole in it, the purpose of which acted as a grim reminder of how long one might be left there.

Spelled completely silent, there would be nothing for the occupant but crushing darkness, inescapable muscle cramps, and one’s own thoughts. Lucius, however, could hear every cry, every whispered plea, every increasingly desperate sob through the door.

The first tears he’d managed to draw without his prick seated firmly in one of the boy’s orifices or the Cruciatus tearing at his insides had been thanks to that room. Now, the mere suggestion of a visit to the cupboard is often enough to compel Potter to debase himself in all manner of ways.

The second modification to the rooms had proven to be Lucius’ favourite by far, however.

To his credit, Potter had enough good sense to be immediately suspicious of the clawfoot tub that appeared one day in the bathroom. Lucius amused himself with the curious and wary glances Potter gave the thing as he hurried past to the shower when he was permitted to bathe, knowing there was some reason to fear it, but unsure yet what it was.

Once or twice, Lucius drew himself a bath and had Potter wash him. Naked on his knees at the side of the tub with Lucius’ hand petting through his hair, running his hands and the soap over every inch of skin available to him, obediently slowing whenever Lucius would tug at his hair. It definitely came as no surprise when each bath would end with Potter’s hand dragged back to Lucius’ prick with the unspoken command quite clear.

More fun were the occasions when he’d ordered Potter to forgo the shower and use the tub himself.

Leaning against the sink, he’d watched as Potter cleansed himself as quickly as he could manage, clearly unsettled by Lucius’ silent observation. But for all his haste, he still knew better than to get out of the water as Lucius came closer. Potter shivered despite the still-warm water as Lucius dipped his own hand in the bath, slipping between the boy’s legs to force two fingers inside of him as he instructed him to touch himself.

Even with his face twisted in misery, he’d found release every time.

The tub became a source of vague humiliation and unwanted pleasure, but soon enough, Harry let himself become rather complacent with it, no longer seemed to pay it any mind.

Which, of course, was exactly what Lucius had been waiting for.

The next time he ordered Harry to the tub, he had him kneel at the head of it. Obviously assuming he’d just be servicing Lucius in his own bath this time, he’d done so without question.

“Spread your legs.”

He did as he was told, shifting his knees slightly apart.

“Further.”

That got him a look of confusion as Potter glanced back over his shoulder, but he still did as instructed, shuffling until he was splayed open properly.

“Good boy,” Lucius murmured, running one bare foot briefly up and down his inner thigh, and Potter’s face flushed a shameful shade of red.

He seemed at least mildly concerned when Lucius bound his ankles to his thighs.

“Now, hands behind your back.”

At this, he hesitated, fingers curling into his palms and arms twitching as he struggled with whether or not to move them.

“I’m waiting, Mr. Potter.”

Despite the slowness of his movements, eventually he brought his hands reluctantly back to the base of his spine.

Crossing them at the wrist, Lucius bent Potter’s arms at the elbows and pulled his hands as high up his back as they’d go before risking pulling his shoulders out of joint. He directed the ropes around his wrists and then drew them up around Potter's throat, leaving very little slack between the two.

Potter finally looked as nervous as he should have from the start. The ropes wouldn’t strangle him—they would remain perfectly restrictive without digging into his flesh anymore than when Lucius had conjured them—and despite the fact that he knew as much from extensive experience, the combination of his bondage and the situation finally seemed to be dawning on him.

“What are—”

“I must admit, I find myself almost disappointed with your easy compliance,” he said, parting his dressing robe to free his cock as he stepped up between the boy’s spread legs. “I’d expected more of a fight from you, and this would have made an excellent punishment for disobedience.”

Potter yelped as he cast _Mobilicorpus_ , bound body hoisted up with strings of magic like an obscene marionette, lifted and contorted until Lucius had him exactly as he wanted him: bent at the hips with his arse prick-high over the edge of the bath, his shocked face just inches from the water’s surface.

Every muscle in Potter’s body had gone rigid, panic at the realization of what was about to happen to him setting in. Lucius tucked his wand in the pocket of his robe and leaned forward to run his hands from the arch of his shoulder blades down his back where it was quivering with his hyperventilation.

Some gentle pressure forced his face that much closer to the water, prompting a whimper.

When his hands reached the lifted arse, he used both to pry apart the cheeks. The little pucker between them was still shiny with his earlier release, and he smiled as he moved one hand to his cock and lined it up.

A breathless, fearful litany of, “Oh god, oh god, oh god,” only added to his anticipation.

“I suppose, however, it wouldn’t be remiss to use this opportunity to reinforce the most important lesson of all,” he said as he thrust home. Even stretched with use as he was, the penetration drew a strangled cry. “Do you remember what that is?”

“Please, Malfoy— _Lucius_ , please stop. I swear I’ll do whatever you want, just please don’t do this—”

Lucius drew his hips back and slammed forward again as punishment for an incorrect response and Potter groaned and twisted in his bonds.

“The most important lesson is that you exist now solely for my pleasure, in whatever form that may take.”

“No, no, _nonono_...”

“Do save your breath,” Lucius murmured, giving a few shallow thrusts as he collected his wand. “You’re going to need it.”

While keeping everything below the stomach held in place, he released the threads of magic holding Potter’s upper body all at once, his head and torso plunged into the cold water filling the tub.

Lucius moaned at the almost painful constriction of the boy’s hole around his cock as the shock of the cold water hit. He fucked deep into the resisting grip of him as Potter thrashed, frantic and futile, water sloshing over the sides as his arms pulled at the unyielding hold of the ropes at his wrists. Stomach contracting, the muscles in his back rippled as he attempted to lift himself up out of the water without the use of his hands or any of the leverage he might have had if his knees weren’t suspended mid-air.

Without slowing the movement of his hips, Lucius extended the spell back to Potter’s throat, dragging him up out of the water, coughing and sputtering.

“You’ve not been so exquisitely tight in months, Potter,” he said with a breathless chuckle.

Potter just gasped and choked, noisily drawing greedy lungfuls of air as he hovered right near the surface of the water, squirming back as far as the magic would allow.

“ _Please_ ,” he sobbed. “P-please no more. I can’t take it, I can’t.”

“You still haven’t learned,” Lucius purred, pulling narrow hips more firmly to him as he slammed himself in deeply enough to force another sob. “You’ll take all I see fit to give you.”

Whatever pleas he might have tried making were replaced with the splashing of his ineffectual struggles as the magic disappeared once more and he dropped back into the icy depths.

Lucius left him longer this time, fucking him violently, knocking his thighs against the tub hard enough to bruise. Distantly, he wished he could see the boy’s face—the stark terror in his eyes, the pinched line of his lips trying to stop any water rushing in, the bubbles from his nose when he’s unable to hold his breath any longer.

Perhaps Lucius would have him face-to-face, next time, bent backwards over the edge with his hands strapped to his thighs and his ankles bound to the feet of the tub.

He hauled him back up again, further this time, wrenched as far back as his spine would reasonably allow so that Lucius could enjoy the sensation of the chilled flesh of Potter’s chest beneath his warm hands. Potter shivered and flinched as his nipples were pinched, gurgling wetly as he spit up water.

He ground his cock in deep and pressed his lips to Potter’s ear as he crooned, “What’s the lesson, Harry?”

“Th-that… that I’m...”

“Go on,” he murmured, ostensibly encouraging but a warning clear in the way he let his magic pull just a little at Potter’s throat, tugging him towards the water with a gasp even as the grip of Lucius’ hands held him up.

“That I’m y-yours.”

Lucius hummed in approval. While not the expected answer, it certainly wasn’t incorrect.

“And what is it that I take from you?”

“ _Everything_.”

The little whisper sounded so utterly ruined and hopeless that it made his cock throb where it was buried in the boy’s body.

“Perhaps,” he said with an undertone of amusement. “Most importantly, however, I take my pleasure from you. From your reticent obedience or your outright defiance—I’ve found that either will suit. Though I’m sure you’ll agree that one has proven to have infinitely preferable results for yourself.”

He pressed a kiss to the side of Potter’s neck, just above the ropes, pleased with the shudder of revulsion even that small kindness could still elicit.

“Tonight, however, I fear only your suffering will suffice. And I fully intend to have it.”

“No—!”

Lucius let Potter drop before he’d even finished his wail of denial, voice swallowed up by the water once more.

His struggles were more desperate this time—his lungs had probably been half empty before he’d even gone under. Lucius fucked him at a brutal pace, enjoying his body's panicked clenching and quivering, no longer concerned with teaching any lessons, simply striving for his own release.

It built within him quickly, spurred on by the knowledge that Potter’s lungs were likely straining, burning and empty, seconds away from forcing him to breathe in the water.

The bubble head charm, when he cast it, made Potter jolt with surprise at the sudden ability to breathe below the surface, body heaving with the force of the deep breaths he took.

Counting down, Lucius closed his eyes and pounded into the body below him as he let Potter catch his breath just long enough.

3… 2… 1…

The _Crucio_ was barely a sigh as he cast it, but the effect was full-force and instantaneous.

Potter’s contortions were wild enough to test the limits of the spell holding him in place, back twisting, feet and hands curling up tight, legs jerking as far as the ropes would allow. Five seconds became ten, then twenty, and soon enough Lucius lost count as he clawed his fingers into the skin of Potter’s bucking hips tightly enough to draw blood, forcing himself fully into that spasming hole as he felt himself tip over the edge.

He ended the curse as he came, hips stuttering out a few more half-hearted pumps into the body below him as the lingering effects of the curse made Potter contract and release quite pleasantly around him through the aftershocks.

Vanishing the ropes and the bubble, he let his magic lift Potter away from the tub and dump him unceremoniously onto the wet floor. The boy curled into himself protectively, knees drawn up towards his chest and arms curled weakly around them, trembling from a combination of the curse and the cold as he dripped blood from his nose and Lucius’ come from his well-used hole.

Hiccoughing sobs wracked his body powerfully enough to take his breath away again, crying and gasping with an almost child-like intensity. Squalling for a long-dead mother or the comfort of a rescue that will never come.

Lucius luxuriated in the sound—the last time Potter wept so uncontrollably had been when Lucius held him down and fucked him that first time. He had almost certainly been a virgin before that night, tight and terrified with disbelief, struggling fiercely until Lucius tore that first, anguished wail from him.

Potter may have expected cruelty, but he had not been even remotely prepared for Lucius’ particular brand of it.

Harry shakes violently anytime Lucius leads him to the tub after that. Whether he’s in the bath himself or soaping Lucius in his own, he tenses with wide-eyed terror if he even suspects Lucius is going for his wand.

It’s terribly amusing.

Just as amusing is when he tries to run the next time Lucius orders him to his knees beside the tub with intent in his voice.

Holding his body underwater with his own strength instead of magic as he fucks him roughly—Potter’s bare feet slipping helplessly on the soaked tile as he struggles for purchase, panic-stricken and screaming his agony into the water as Lucius twists the fingers on the boy’s hand where he’s pinning it to the base of his spine, bending them far enough to break—proved almost as satisfying as the Cruciatus had been.

Another unexpectedly effective avenue of assistance had been Draco.

While Lucius had adamantly refused to share his charge with anyone outside the Dark Lord—who, thankfully, was a seemingly asexual creature and had never demanded as much, satisfied with just the memories of Potter’s torment, pulled from Lucius’ mind—he could hardly refuse his own son, when he’d asked.

Potter’s shattered expression at the sight of Draco following Lucius into his rooms, the way all the air in his lungs seemed to empty as though he’d been physically struck, had been well worth the night lost leaving him in his son’s care.

Despite his initial misgivings about the level of violence his son was sure to exact on his childhood rival, Draco had done very little physical damage; some abrasions at the wrists, a hint of bruising at his neck where perhaps he’d opted for a more physical method of silencing him, and definitely the indentation of his fingernails settled in at Potter’s hips. Nothing too lasting.

The psychological damage, however, had been significant and very pleasing.

Lucius imagined Draco had told Potter of the chaos outside the walls of the manor, beyond his isolated existence in the windowless room that made up his prison. Maybe he’d even lied, told him his friends were all dead, made up some gruesome stories to sweeten his pain as he’d taken him. His body would undoubtedly clench with horrified shock if he thought the Weasley boy had been torn to shreds by one of the wolves, and he’d sob and thrash terribly if he believed that the mudblood girl had found a fate similar to his own.

Truthfully, they’d managed to find precious few of them since their tactical retreat at the Battle of Hogwarts, following the Dark Lord’s second failed attempt to kill the Boy-Who-Lived and the discovery of Narcissa’s…. well.

There had been losses since, but Potter’s closest allies remained alive and well out of reach, their rebellion continued in full force and even seemingly strengthened by the loss of their saviour. They somehow managed to stay just a scant step ahead at every turn.

But Lucius was content to let Potter believe whatever it was Draco had told him.

He’d come to Lucius on his knees, then, crawling as he ought to, head lowered as he whispered, “Please… don’t… don’t let him come back. I-I’ll be good, just… please.”

His cock had never felt so firm as at that moment, reaching one hand down to stroke through Potter’s hair, gentle at first, then fingers curling tightly to wrench his head back and force him to look up.

Wet, red-rimmed eyes stared back, something so plaintive and thoroughly broken inside. The teary-eyed supplication sent a hot rush of lust through his gut.

“If I am kept satisfied, you’ll have no cause for concern,” he murmured, bringing his free hand down to trace the boy’s lips with his thumb, still a bit swollen and red from his son’s attentions that morning.

Potter cottoned on quickly enough, glancing down to the obvious bulge of Lucius’ erection in his trousers with his lower lip trembling for a moment before he forced himself to say, “May I…?”

Lucius pressed his thumb between those lips and Potter obediently drew it in, suckled at it gently as Lucius pressed it briefly to his tongue before withdrawing.

“We’re well beyond shyness and you’re a far cry from virginal, now, aren’t you? Ask me properly.”

He’d never done this of his own volition before. Potter had tasted Lucius more times than he could count, of course, dragged along Lucius’ length by his hair, but never had he so sweetly requested the privilege—not without being bloodied and shaking from the efforts of Lucius’ coercion beforehand, at least.

It made Lucius absolutely _throb_ to see him close his eyes tightly against fresh tears and take a steadying breath before he opened them again.

“Please can I s-suck your cock, sir?”

“Lucius,” he murmured, tightening his grip on Potter’s hair further. “If you wish to seek my favour, you will address me by name.”

He knew Potter detested this—the intimacy of it. It was the reason he used ‘sir’ as a respectful means of address and would only resort to using Lucius’ given name when desperate. It was the same reason he hated the rare occasions when Lucius took him gently, stimulated him to hardness and settled him in his lap with orders to ride him to completion, fucking up into him with long, slow strokes that made him gasp instead of cry, mirroring the pace with the grip of his hand until Potter spilled against his will, shuddering and flushed and thoroughly hating himself.

The boy was never more upset than when Lucius made him participate in or enjoy his own defilement.

His hand shook—whether from spell damage or nervousness, Lucius hardly cared—as he brought it up to cup Lucius’ prick through his trousers.

“Please, Lucius, let me suck you.”

Obligingly, he removed his hands with one last tug at Potter’s hair, settling more comfortably into his high-backed chair. With a smirk curving his lips, he gestured for him to proceed.

His initial effort was utterly without finesse. Potter’s knowledge of oral gratification seemed confined to the absence of teeth and maintenance of suction as his mouth was used outside his own control. There was some appeal to the hesitant seal of his lips around just the head of Lucius’ cock, its weight and size clearly unfamiliar when not being driven straight to the back of the throat. But the sloppy bobbing of his head, too wet and shallow without even any tongue work for intrigue, grew tedious in short order.

Potter blinked in surprise as Lucius pulled him off his prick by his hair.

“Are you _trying_ to disappoint me?”

“No, I—”

“With that abysmal performance, one would almost think you were _eager_ to see Draco return.”

Potter’s eyes widened with a satisfying dread at that, and Lucius felt simultaneously proud and perhaps a touch envious of how terror-stricken his son had left him in the span of just one night.

“N-no, please. I’ll try harder. I can do better.”

“You could hardly do worse.”

Potter wiped at the tear that tracked down his cheek at that, staring uncertainly at Lucius’ damp cock where it lay between his legs.

Lucius took a small bit of pity on the boy, guiding Potter’s hand to wrap around the base of his cock.

“Service the length outside your mouth with your hand. And for Merlin’s sake, put that petulant tongue to some good use.”

Improvement was immediately evident, his fist twisting and stroking at the base as he kitten-licked at the tip, tongue curled inexpertly around Lucius’ cock as he took him back between his lips. Cautiously swirling over the head as he sucked, Potter looked nervously up to Lucius for direction, drawing an encouraging groan.

“Tighten up. Swallow. I said _swallow_. Yes, _that’s_ it. We’ll make a decent cocksucker of you yet, boy.”

Soon enough, he’s fallen into a noisy, wet rhythm, the saliva he doesn’t manage to swallow with Lucius’ prick splitting the tight circle of his lips dripping down over his fingers and slicking their movement.

It was a perfectly serviceable if messy effort, but Lucius would not be satisfied until the boy had choked him down fully.

Potter looked questioningly up at him as Lucius pried those slippery fingers from his prick.

He stroked the tip of one finger over the skin at the very base of his cock in answer.

“All the way down.”

Cringing, Potter lowered himself just a bit further down Lucius’ length. He inched steadily forwards, but the bare hint of the tip at the back of his mouth had him gagging. He made to pull off, but Lucius stopped him with the unyielding curl of his hand around the back of Potter’s skull.

“Remove your lips from my cock before you’ve finished and you will have a _very_ long time to think about your mistake in the cupboard. Do I make myself clear?”

Potter nodded, eyes gone wet again, and Lucius released him.

“Continue.”

Attempt after entertaining attempt ended in nothing but gagging and coughing, not to mention an unseemly amount of drool.

Lucius was content to let Potter exhaust himself trying, until finally, sweating and red in the face from his efforts, Potter looked to him with despairing eyes.

“Do you require assistance?”

He nodded miserably.

When Lucius did nothing more than arch an eyebrow expectantly, Potter swallowed and carefully muttered, “Please, Lucius,” around his mouthful.

Lucius heaved a put-upon sigh as he wove his fingers into Potter’s damp hair and yanked him forward.

“Oh, if you insist.”

The first stroke had his cockhead wedged up between the boy’s tonsils, heedless of his choking whimpers or the white-knuckled grip Potter kept on his own knees to stop himself pushing Lucius away. When he pulled back, it was not for long, simultaneously tilting his hips up and drawing Potter down to meet him with very little pause.

Potter’s throat made the most satisfying, sticky, clicking sounds as Lucius forced his way further each time.

At some point, Potter had clenched his eyes closed at the assault, lashes wet with evidence of the tears that had spilled over.

“Ah ah,” Lucius chided, pulling back with a slap to Potter’s cheek that he could feel in his own flesh. “Look at me.”

Green eyes opened obediently—watering, bloodshot, sorrowful—and Lucius smiled.

“Keep your eyes open. I want to see you looking at me,” he murmured, a slightly breathless quality to his voice as he nudged Potter’s mouth forward again. “Remember, Potter… you asked for this.”

He hauled him forward until he could feel Potter’s nose pressed against his stomach, finally breaching his throat with a moan, lodged as deep as he could go. It took both of Lucius’ hands curled mercilessly around his skull to keep Potter in place as the choking started in earnest, that panicked throat fluttering around him like butterfly wings as the airway was cut off.

A brief retreat gave Potter just one breath’s worth of relief before Lucius thrust straight back into the clenching wetness. He drew back shallowly and drove his cock forward again, fucking the boy’s throat properly now.

“You will not swallow,” he ground out as he felt himself nearing his peak, reluctantly easing back from the tight grip of his throat so that he could spill over Potter’s tongue, the previously lacklustre efforts of which could all be forgiven for the way it pressed and writhed insistently along his length, now, trying in vain to force him out. “You will hold my release in your mouth until I tell you otherwise.”

Potter did his best to comply, though Lucius suspected at least some had been shot directly down his abused throat.

The expression of revulsion is ill-concealed on his tear-streaked face as he kneels awaiting orders, Lucius’ come pooled thick and hot on his tongue. He was forced to first endure the taste of it filling his mouth as Lucius sat catching his breath and setting his clothing back to rights, then to open his sore jaws and display his detested mouthful for inspection.

“A rather unsatisfactory effort,” he drawled, tapping Potter’s chin up with two fingers to indicate that he was permitted to close his mouth. “However, I’m confident that dedicated instruction and frequent practise will rectify the issue.”

There was an audible swallow before Potter murmured, “thank you, sir,” as he knew he was expected to.


End file.
